Trusting the future
by BHP
Summary: Christmas is past, New Year is coming,good friends sit down for a serious conversation. An answer to the mistletoe and trust challenge.


All the usual disclaimers apply: I don't own the show, or the characters, or anything except the words on this page.

This story makes a passing reference to my story 'Counterfeit suspect', but if you haven't read it, it shouldn't be a problem.

**Trusting the future  
by BHP**

The melancholy had set in just after Christmas Day. At least, that was what Hardcastle told himself. That way he didn't have to admit that McCormick hadn't really seemed quite 'right', for want of a better word, for most of December. The jurist had wracked his memories of their years together for anything that might be worrying the kid. He'd even flipped through the social services paperwork in Mark's now-archived file, hoping to find something significant in the December of some long-forgotten year. But to no avail. Nothing was wrong. But the younger man still seemed too … something. Depressed was too strong a word, miserable too sad, and quiet too unlike Mark. Introspective. Hardcastle felt something click as he thought the word. Mark obviously had something weighing on him. And what kind of friend would Hardcastle be if he left the younger man to struggle with his concerns alone? All he had to do now, of course, was figure out what the problem was, and then convince Mark that he could use some help. Hardcastle wondered if it was too late to pray for a Christmas miracle.

Hardcastle gathered up the loose papers on his desk, sorting them quickly into order with the air of a man who'd done this so many times before that he could do it blindfolded. Stuffing the pages back into the worn manila folder, he shook his head slowly. Who'd have thought his retirement project would turn out so well? But it had, and now Mark was a lawyer and the law clinic was holding its own. Hardcastle still felt a little bemused every time he looked at the neat black lettering on the law clinic door and saw his late wife's name. Nancy would have been embarrassed by the attention it sent her way, but deep inside, Hardcastle was thrilled. She'd been so special, the warm centre of his existence for so long that he missed her painfully even now.

Mark had helped him cope with that loss, even though the younger man had never asked for any details. He simply dragged the judge out into the world and made him get on with the business of living. Looking back, Hardcastle was grateful. Which was why he wanted to help Mark with whatever was bothering him.

Plodding down the stairs to the basement, each scuffing step of his battered sneakers brought the filing cabinets further into view. Hardcastle always stopped at the foot of the stairs to contemplate the sight: the paperwork, the nuts and bolts of justice delivered, and justice to come. One hard mental shake later, he opened the drawer labelled M-MO, and dropped Mark's file back into its slot. The drawer slid shut with a squeak and a gentle thump, and the trip back to the den was quicker, but no more enlightening.

"McCormick!"

Silence greeted Hardcastle's yell in the hallway. He checked his watch. It wasn't lunch time yet, but it was getting there. And given that every possible food choice at the moment involved leftover turkey, he was counting on the kid to eat with him. Two appetites were definitely better than one in this case. Hardcastle passed through the kitchen, noting the spotless counter tops as he headed out the door into the sunshine. McCormick had definitely not been in the kitchen since breakfast. He headed over towards the gatehouse and stopped under the bedroom window.

"McCormick! Get your butt down here. Turkey's calling." Silence answered him from the gatehouse. Not the watchful silence of someone avoiding your attention, but the silence of emptiness.

Hardcastle felt concern start to niggle at the back of his mind. Had he forgotten an appointment Mark had gone to? Was the younger man ill? Or had something else gone wrong, something connected to the lingering introspective cloud that was following the younger man around like a motherless duckling?

Hardcastle looked toward where the Coyote had been parked earlier and was reassured that Mark hadn't left. The next logical place was the beach, and the jurist headed that way, counting the seconds anxiously as he hurried across the green expanse. Raucous gulls flapped overhead as Hardcastle reached the edge of the cliff. One sweeping glance the length of the beach dismissed one concern. Mark wasn't ill, not physically at least. A slightly dishevelled figure, brown hair windswept, dressed in worn denim cut-offs and a stretched white t-shirt was making its barefooted way slowly towards Hardcastle's position. Mark's head was down, his shoulders slumped as he watched the waves wash across the sand. Reaching a point near the path back up the cliff, Mark sat down on the beach and stared out at the sea.

00000

The sun was warm, the sea a particularly clear shade of jewelled turquoise topped with white lacy edges. The gentle rush of water over sand was soothing, the sound doing its best to lift Mark's mood. He sighed heavily as he gazed out over the water. He had to pull himself together and get over this spell of … whatever it was … that was plaguing him. Hardcastle had noticed something was wrong, and Mark knew the judge would be after him soon enough with offers of help. But there wasn't anything the older man could do about situation. Hardcastle hadn't caused it, and Hardcastle certainly wouldn't be its cure. That thought alone was enough to bring a genuine smile to Mark's face.

Somehow, it seemed ungrateful not to be happier. He had a job he loved, one he was surprisingly good at, although arguing with Hardcastle for years would probably make even a law school dropout an almost passable lawyer. Mark was sure he had the best understanding of the concept of 'flagrant necessity' of any lawyer his age.

Mark settled more deeply into the soft sand, digging in with his bare toes. He scooped up a handful of sand and watched it trickle futilely through his fingers back onto the beach. He had some of the best friends anyone could want. Hardcastle: his support; his conscience when he'd first come to the estate; the best friend he'd ever had, even better than Flip; and the man who'd been so sure that Mark could be a lawyer that he'd paid the bills on Mark's dream.

Frank and Claudia. It still made Mark shake his head in wonder. An ex-con turned lawyer and one of the most honest, upright police officers he'd ever met; friends with years of shared experiences and similar views on many things. Not to mention shared humour. Frank could appreciate a lot of Mark's humour, but Claudia understood him in a unique way, courtesy of the shared city landscapes of both their childhoods. Then there was Mattie, and all the other people he'd met through the judge. In the end, everything seemed to come back to Hardcastle.

Mark was sorry he'd never met Nancy Hardcastle. She must have been something really amazing to be so important to the judge. Nothing else could explain the older man's actions every Christmas. Whenever the decorations went up, and the lights were switched on for the first time, Hardcastle would take one small piece of mistletoe and tuck it into the edge of a framed photograph of Nancy. Mark had never needed to ask what emotion prompted such a tender gesture from an emotionally reticent man, and he thanked his lucky stars that he'd had the prudence to never mention the whole topic to Hardcastle. There was nothing the man hated more than being reminded that he was a genuinely warm and caring person.

There was the real problem, Mark realised suddenly. The judge really did care deeply about his friends, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for family. Nothing within the law, at any rate. So how could Mark take everything the other man had done for him, and denigrate it? Doing that would hurt the older man, and Mark just couldn't find it in himself to do that to the only family he had. Which of course only left him with one option: find a way to accept his situation and learn to move beyond his own emotional response to it. Considering what Hardcastle meant to him, it was the very least Mark could do.

The clatter of skittering gravel behind him dragged Mark's attention back to the beach. There was only one person who'd follow him here, and Mark was smiling as he rose.

"Hi, Judge. What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

"Very funny, McCormick." Hardcastle snorted in mild amusement. "I've been looking for you. Sometimes I think I should bell you like a cat."

Mark's snide comeback faded in the face of Hardcastle's carefully hidden concern. He could understand the older man's worry; after all, given how they both seemed to attract trouble, disappearing without warning would always cause alarm bells to ring. But they didn't really act like the Lone Ranger and Tonto anymore. Tonto had a legitimate, law-abiding job now, and the Lone Ranger had pretty much put Silver out to pasture.

"Thought you needed the exercise of finding me." Mark's grin was cheeky. "You know what they say about people your age, Judge; you need to get your daily exercise, and the best option is always a nice, brisk walk."

Hardcastle practically growled his disgust at that notion, and took a step towards Mark, who danced backwards on the hot sand, snickering at Hardcastle's response. "And who whipped your behind on the court this morning, hotshot? You ask me, you're the one who needs more exercise."

Hardcastle looked smug and Mark unconsciously rubbed the still tender spot on his side. No-one had ever accused Hardcastle of not giving his all for basketball. Shaking his head, Mark was rueful. "Okay, okay, you win. Just like this morning."

Dusting the sand off his shorts, Mark headed towards the cliff path, Hardcastle close behind him.

"So, what's up?"

"Turkey, that's what."

"And you say I have a one-track mind when it comes to food."

00000

The mood in the kitchen was lighter than it had been in a while, but Hardcastle had the feeling that not everything was as cheerful as it seemed. Mark was trying too hard to be light-hearted, almost as if he didn't want Hardcastle to worry. Which naturally had just the opposite effect. But if normal was what the kid wanted, Hardcastle didn't plan to disappoint him. He dropped into a chair and took the plate the kid offered him. Turkey and mayo sandwiches this time. He waited until Mark had settled into the chair opposite, settling his plate with a gentle clink as it touched the water glass.

"So, what're you up to until we open the office after New Year?"

Mark's eyes dropped to his plate and he shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "Nothing much. I thought I might swing by the office tomorrow and have another look at that contract for Jenny MacBride. If I can tweak a couple of clauses, she'll get a much better deal with her …" Mark stopped dead at the look on Hardcastle's face.

"What's the matter with you?" Getting no response, Mark tried again. "Have I got mayo on my face or something?"

Hardcastle swallowed his bite of turkey sandwich and let rip. "Not work, kiddo. The office is closed. I thought you knew what that meant; stay away until after the New Year. Go do something else for a few days. You'll work yourself into an early grave like this."

Mark looked astounded at the sudden tirade. Under other circumstances, Hardcastle would have been amused to see the younger man fumble for words. Then Mark spoke, so quietly the judge almost missed the words. "But, Judge, this is important. You of all people know how important the law is. Our clients deserve the best I can do for them."

Mark's obvious confusion almost derailed Hardcastle, but concern carried the day. "I know it's important, kiddo, but you need a break sometimes too. Have a little fun, go to a movie or something. Besides, you know Joyce will be upset if she has to fix the filing system again." Hardcastle shook an admonishing finger.

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" Mark sighed in mock despair. "It was one file, one time. Just once, I swear. Whatever happened to mitigation of sentence due to good behaviour?"

Hardcastle laughed outright at that. Where did the kid get this stuff? And the doleful, puppy-dog eyes just made him laugh harder. At that, Mark's expression dissolved into laughter as well. "Seriously though, Judge, I may as well go and look that contract over. It's not like I've got anywhere else to be."

Mark suddenly shifted uncomfortably in the chair, eyes focused on the half-eaten sandwich on his plate, and Hardcastle knew without a doubt that the kid had let something slip. Something Mark would rather have kept from Hardcastle. All that he had to do was figure out where this clue led. A frontal assault would be messy and unproductive, so it would have to be a sneak attack.

"If you're looking for something to do, I'm sure there's a hedge somewhere with your name on it." Hardcastle was casual and ever so helpful.

"Judge." Mark whined. "That's not what I meant. Besides, you hired someone to do the yard work, remember?"

Hardcastle shrugged. "I know. Doesn't mean I'm thrilled with the results. You know, when I was a kid, our family did all its own work. We'd never have brought an outsider in to do that sort of thing." Hardcastle was wistful and Mark rolled his eyes.

"Sure. And you walked five miles to school every day, barefoot even in the snow." Mark's voice was amused, tolerant and just slightly cynical; he'd heard this story before, and every time brought new embellishments. "If only family get to do the yard work, what's your excuse for making me do it for all those years?"

Hardcastle coughed, half amused and half horrified at the dawning comprehension on Mark's face. Sometimes sneak attacks were a bad idea, they came back and bit you hard; he should've stuck with a frontal assault. He knew he considered Mark to be his family, and he was sure the kid felt the same way, but it wasn't something that needed to be taken out and discussed in the clear light of day. Mark was watching him and Hardcastle braced himself to say something, but the younger man tipped his head to one side in acknowledgement and let it slide.

"So, what else did your family do to pass the time?" Mark sounded genuinely interested, and Hardcastle leaned back to reminisce.

"There was a lot of visiting, especially around this time of year. We'd all go visit my uncle and his family, or they'd all come visit us. You'd catch up on all the news, who'd got married, who'd had kids, how the harvest had been. Lots of food; May and Zora would bake for days. Even more than they do now." Hardcastle chuckled at the appreciative gleam in Mark's eyes.

"Once I moved out here, things were different. I couldn't get home every year, and letters sometimes just make you feel more alone. The holidays were hard. Lonely. I worked all the time. And then … then I met Nancy." Hardcastle's voice faded as he remembered earlier years. He could hear Nancy's voice, see her smile, listen to her laughter at one of his stories about Gerald. He sighed as he dragged his attention back to Mark; it still wasn't a good idea to dwell on life without Nancy.

The naked yearning on Mark's face provided the final clue, and Hardcastle could almost hear the pieces of the puzzle snap into place. He wasn't used to being an emotional anchor for anyone, but the kid was family, a second son. He could find it in his heart to believe that there was a first time for everything.

"When I worked all the time, part of it was trying to do the best job I could, you know? But part of it was just so that I had a reason to get up in the morning."

Mark nodded and Hardcastle had to look away. The remains of his lunch were fascinating, after all. So was the shaft of sunlight through the window, bouncing off the dust mites in the air. "I remember thinking, the year before I met Nancy, is this it? Surely there should be more to life than just work." Hardcastle cast a quick glance at Mark, and saw recognition on the younger man's feature. "And then I'd hear my grandmother's voice in my head, telling me that I had so much more than so many other people; asking me why I was so ungrateful and never satisfied with what I had." Hardcastle laughed quietly. "She was rather fond of speaking her mind."

"Really." Mark snickered. "Guess it takes one to know one."

Hardcastle glared at the younger man and carried on. "You're a real comedian, McCormick. Fancy a new career?" He smiled. "But she also said that everyone deserves to find someone to spend a lifetime with. I like to think that she'd have been happy for me when I found someone like that." A speculative look crossed Hardcastle's face. "I think my grandfather agreed with her. He'd never have disagreed with her in public anyway."

"Some things breed true in the Hardcastle family tree." Mark observed with a laugh, before sobering. Hardcastle could see the question hovering, but decided to wait for the kid to spit it out. He was surprised again.

"You know I didn't have much growing up, Judge, but I never really missed it. Suppose you don't miss what you've never had. The last few years, though, things have been different. I've had more than I ever thought I could. And not just physical stuff, though the leather diary is real nice, Judge." Blue eyes smiled at the older man. "I've got friends, a home, an education, a future. I figured all that sort of thing was just a dream for a guy like me, a dream that died with Flip."

McCormick's eyes were somewhere else, seeing something Hardcastle never would. The older man bit back the words that wanted to be spoken, and settled in to listen. Mark never really talked about his life before Flip, and gaining an insight into the kid's thoughts had become something Hardcastle appreciated. A glimpse past the façade to a man who felt deeply and wanted things to be better than they were. A kindred spirit hidden in plain view.

"And then everything changed." Mark seemed reflective now. "Now I've got this life I never imagined, and all I seem to do is wonder about what I don't have; all I seem to want is more. And that's just got to be wrong, don't you think?" The question dropped quietly between them and Hardcastle pondered his answer. Glib wouldn't work, and the kid was too bright to accept something without some thought behind it.

"I don't think that's wrong, kiddo. It's not like you don't appreciate what you have, you're just … sort of, looking around at everything else that's out there." McCormick's attention was pinned to his hands, watching his fingers make abstract patterns with the bread crumbs on his plate. Hardcastle wished he could see Mark's eyes. "Everyone does that. Geez, I've done that more than once." Hardcastle chuckled quietly. "The first time was Nancy. The last time, well I'm still working on that one; and it looks real good, too." One blunt finger tapped on the table in front of Mark to emphasise the point. "Nancy wouldn't have liked being thought of as 'something else'. But for me, she wasn't just part of the 'something else' out there, she was all of it." Mark's compassionate gaze made Hardcastle turn his eyes away, back to the dancing dust motes. The tap dripped slowly in the background. "Everyone has the right to want that, Mark. You have that right."

Mark let that thought simmer for a while, then questioned. "So, it's okay to want … that? As well as everything else." A wave of a hand indicated the kitchen, the house and everything that entailed. Hardcastle nodded and Mark relaxed a little, then sighed. "Only the odds are about a million to one against it ever happening."

Hardcastle couldn't help the guffaw. Even after all this time, the kid still managed to reduce everything to odds and bets. "Trust me, kiddo, you'll get yours. When it's due and not before. I won't even bet on it, that's like taking candy from a baby!"

"So, you're basically telling me that you can't hurry love, you just have to wait for it to come along?" Mark's look was arch and Hardcastle grinned. The kid really thought he could catch him.

"Yup, that's about the size of it." Mark shook his head and Hardcastle thumped one stern finger in front of the younger man. "And just because I know what song you're quoting, doesn't mean I like your music. Some things are timeless. Like the Supremes. Not like that Springsteen rubbish you listen to." It felt right to be telling the kid off for the usual stuff again, and the look of tolerant amusement on Mark's face showed that returning normalcy felt good all round.

00000

Many hours later, alone in the gatehouse before turning in for the night, Mark thought about what Hardcastle had said and smiled. He'd often wondered about the older man's hunches and instincts over their years together. Sometimes, he'd wondered about Hardcastle's sanity. But time had proven the jurist right nearly every time. And even the times that hadn't worked out the way Hardcastle had predicted, had worked out for the best. If only he'd realised before now how much the judge actually believed in fate. It might have made trusting the older man harder, but then again, maybe not. Mark was fairly sure he'd relied on fate and luck more than once himself. Just another thing they had in common.

Mark shifted a couple of things around in his closet and took out a plain cardboard shoebox, from the back of the top shelf. He flipped the lid off, and moved a few things aside. A photograph of him fishing, with Hardcastle and Frank. The note that Hardcastle had written to Mark when the younger man had graduated. Other mementoes of good times and good friends. Near the bottom of the box, he found what he was looking for: one old t-shirt, with the faded slogan 'I love San Francisco' on the front and a small slip of paper. The fortune from a fortune cookie, a reminder of a dinner with the judge in Chinatown many years ago. 'Trust the future'. Typically cryptic, and yet, he'd found a meaning in it that weekend. Hardcastle and the future were linked. Trust one and the other inevitably seemed to fall into place.

Glancing out the window, Mark could see the light burning at Hardcastle's window. A light that would lead him down a path already marked by the man who'd travelled it before him. A person who'd led him to safety. Mark knew that he could trust the judge to have Mark's best interests at heart. He looked down again at the fortune in his hand, then back to the light across the yard. Everything else would fall into place. Hardcastle believed it. He nodded to his own reflection in the glass and smiled. He walked to his desk, and opened the leather diary. Right in the middle of the first page, where he'd be sure to see it every time he opened the book, he wrote 'Trust the future' in solid black letters, the pen scratching quietly across the paper. "I've trusted you forever, Judge. Why stop now?"


End file.
